


Remembrance

by Valeria2067



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 09:44:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish Watson-Holmes (the son of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes), is preparing to move out and start Uni. His Dad helps him clear out some shelf space and makes an upsetting discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hamish](https://archiveofourown.org/works/329656) by [Valeria2067](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067). 



“When did you even get half of these books, Hal?” John asked as he handed another stack down from the shelf and into the waiting hands of his son. “ _Medical record, Volume 38, St. Francis Hospital, New York, 1890…._ Wait… is this the original medical record book from a nineteenth-century hospital in New York? Are you even allowed to take that out of the country?”

Hamish smiled faintly. “Yeah, um, that one is on… extended temporary loan.  It’s through a friend of Uncle Mycroft.  I’ll put that in the ‘return’ lot, then.” He started to throw the book into a small crate at the foot of his bed, caught himself, thought better of it, and gingerly placed it inside.

John moved up one step on the ladder and began to pull down more of the books.

“Thanks for helping with this, Dad.  I know Father will want the extra shelf space while I’m at Uni.  Though God knows what he’ll put up there. Just don’t let him store cadavers in my bed, OK?”

“So fussy, Hal?  I thought we raised you to be more open-minded,” John laughed.

Another few books made their way down to Hamish. “Well, he’d probably come in here with his violin to wake it up for school a few times… forgetting I was gone.”

“Away,” John corrected.

“Hmm?” Hamish asked, leafing through the book in his hands.

“Away,” John repeated firmly. “Not gone.  Gone sounds …. Permanent.  You’ll just be away.”

“Oh, right.”  Hamish didn’t look up.

As John removed the last of the books, he saw a small wooden chest pushed toward the back of the shelf.  Without even thinking, he pulled the chest down and lifted the lid a bit. “So what’s this box, then?”

It took Hamish a full three seconds to process the significance of his Dad’s question, and it took another second for him to look up from his book, spin round, and shout, “Dad! No! DON’T—-!”

Unfortunately, those few seconds were too long.

John’s hands were trembling, and he felt himself begin to sway backward on the ladder.  Hamish rushed to steady him.

“Hal….why….,” He would have finished the question if he’d had any air in his lungs. The tightness in his chest had forced it out. He felt as though his heart had stopped beating.

As he crumpled against his son’s outstretched arms, he let the box fall from his numb fingers

The last thing he saw was one of the photographs falling to the ground; it was of Sherlock’s twisted, bloodied corpse on the pavement outside St. Bart’s.

Then there was blackness. 

And then he was on that street again.

_“Please… let me through to him… I’m a doctor… Please, I’m his friend….Sherlock… Oh, Jesus, no…..  God, no….”_

_Dark curls dragging through the blood… so much blood… Please stop pulling me away… need to check his pulse…. God, Sherlock… Sherlock don’t do this… Sherlock, open your eyes…_

The street disappeared, and John’s vision re-focused on a pair of familiar pale eyes, high cheekbones, dark hair.  A long-fingered hand was reaching toward him.

He grabbed the figure by the collar and pulled him close, squeezed him until he heard the squeak of compressed ribs. He let out a gasping sob:  “Sh….Sherlock…”

“Dad… it’s OK.  Dad, it’s me; it’s Hamish.  It’s Hal.  You’re OK.  Father’s OK.  Everything’s fine. I’m so sorry, Dad; you weren’t meant to see those.”

A deep, velvet voice joined in. “Help me get him onto the bed, Hamish.”

John looked to the side and saw the face from the photograph, now clean and unharmed. Instead of crimson blood in the dark curls there were strands of silver-grey. The eyes were open, worried, but very much, thank God, alive.

“I’ll be fine,” John protested. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting it… don’t know why it hit me like that, sorry.”

“Because your son is leaving, John,” Sherlock replied calmly. “He won’t be in your day-to-day life anymore, at least not for a few years, and perhaps never again.  That would be difficult for any affectionate parent.  But given what you went through years ago…. What I put you through…” John felt a few tears sting the corners of his eyes as Sherlock continued, “And considering Hamish’s strong physical resemblance to the man in those photographs, your reaction is understandable.”

Sherlock put a hand on John’s shoulder. “We ARE losing him, John. Our little boy. But he isn’t going to be gone like I was.”

John looked at Hamish, then back to Sherlock. “I thought you were gone forever.”

Sherlock smiled kindly. “Yes. But I was just….. Away.”


End file.
